Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

  Well, the window to the north didn’t show much, just the foxholes and the patch of food forest between the house and the hilltop. The woods blocked her view farther uphill. So she found herself gazing east, at the pond. It looked so peaceful, like life used to be before the invasion. The foliage around the pond was beautiful; half were useful plants and water-loving things like foxtails, but the other half were flowers and little fruit-bearing shrubs. The water was still, save for the ripples left in the wake of three ducks, who paddled around looking for food. Good luck, little ducks.

  Two loud bangs ripped Cassy out of her daydreaming. Adrenaline spiked for a second, and her mind reeled to catch up. Michael was saying something, but it just sounded like gibberish. He furrowed his brow in irritation and repeated himself, and Cassy understood this time. The enemy was coming, and from the north. Dammit, that was not what they’d wanted.

  A radio crackled to life: “Sniper One to base. Multiple incoming hostiles, at least fifty, with small arms.” There was another bang of rifle fire, and another. “Four down, they’re still coming. Retreating to fighting positions November One and Two, request reinforcements now! Over.”

  Cassy moved to grab another radio, but Michael was faster and she heard his steady, hard voice saying, “All units, all units. September positions move to reinforce November One and Two, even numbers only.”

  So, they’d bet wrong putting most of their defenses on the south side, and Michael was diverting half of the southern units north to back up the fighting positions there. Cassy knew she’d soon have plenty to shoot at.

  Three seconds later, Cassy saw the two people who’d been in the sniper stands sprinting out of the woods toward the foxholes, and they literally dove into the positions, landing in a jumble of arms and legs with the people already in those foxholes. Just as they landed, Cassy heard what a real firefight sounded like when at least a dozen spots in the dark woods lit up from the muzzle flashes of Peter’s people. She was in shock and stared for a few seconds, but in every second she saw another muzzle flash joining the first ones. So, they were keeping in cover in the woods, for the moment. Good.

  Michael grabbed her shoulder. “Cassy! Engage the damn enemy!”

  Cassy shook her head to clear it and then brought up her rifle. She scanned the tree line through her scope but saw nothing at first. Then she heard Michael’s calm voice again. “Cassy, look for the muzzle flash. Fire at the flashes.” Okay, that made sense even to her adrenaline-fogged brain.

  There! A flash! She fired at it, but was either hasty or shaking—she couldn’t tell which—because the shot went wide. But now that she’d focused on a flash, she could see the person behind it. She counted to three as she sighted in, took a deep breath, exhaled halfway and then held it. In that second, she lightly squeezed the trigger. Just like hunting… There was a deafening sound when her rifle went off, and the scope view jiggled from the recoil, but she saw enough to realize she’d practically decapitated an attacker. Holy shit. She’d never killed anyone before, and the realization that she had just ended a life hit her like a hammer. She’d tried to kill Jim in the first days of the EMP, but that was different. That was personal. This was just… some person following orders.

  And then she was struck by the realization that, despite the shock of it, killing that man didn’t actually bother her. Would she feel it later? She’d have to ask Michael about that when this was over, if they both lived through this. But for now she shoved the thought away and sighted in on another muzzle flash in the woods.

  * * *

  1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +28

  Peter walked with his people back to their farmhouse headquarters and fumed. It just didn’t make any damn sense. How could a few dozen people hold off his army like that? They’d exchanged fire for maybe half an hour before Peter called the retreat. He could have kept going, of course, but once all those other Clan fighters had joined the battle, he knew a simple rush to overrun the foxholes would have seen his people slaughtered. He outnumbered the Clan three-to-one by his scouts’ estimates, yet they’d held him off.

  Worse, Peter lost half a dozen people—three to Clan rifles, and three were lost to booby traps in the woods. Another half dozen were wounded. He hadn’t expected so many traps. The bastards had littered the woods with them. Time to reevaluate his strategy.

  Peter caught sight of the prisoner, Jaz, tied to the tree out front. Normally her condition would have mildly disgusted him—Jim was a bastard, that was certain—but after the defeat he’d just suffered, it brought him a measure of savage joy. Her clothes were torn, nose probably broken, lower lip torn open, left eye swollen completely shut, and she was covered in dirt, bruises, blood, and other things Peter preferred not to think about. After Jim had finished “questioning” her the night before, he’d returned to the house full of smiles. All Jaz had done since then was sit curled up into a ball, back against the tree to which she was bound.

  All the rage he felt toward the Clan for embarrassing him today was somewhat cooled by the thought of what Jim had done to Jaz. It was actually satisfying to see one of the Clan so thoroughly defeated, as long as he didn’t think much about how she’d got that way. Yep, good ol’ Jim. And he figured that his people seeing Jaz in that condition would help keep them in line.

  “Okay, enough of that,” Peter mumbled. He turned to Jim and said, “The plan didn’t work. I figured we had the people to just smash through, and if we’d had another dozen, I might have tried. Even if we’d lost half our people, we’d still have had twice what the Clan has now. But you know what they say about wishes and fishes. We didn’t have another dozen, and we have even fewer fighters now. We need a new plan, Jim.”

  Jim lowered his eyes, avoiding Peter’s gaze. “We all thought it would work, boss. It isn’t anyone’s fault but the Clan’s. Jaz says they got some Marines with them, and they must be the ones who figured out how to set up for a north attack like that. I wish we had some Marines of our own, but the closest we got is a guy who was a County Sheriff, an Army Reservist who was basically a file clerk, and a retired Navy guy. You know he never saw any ground action.”

  “Shit, Jim. I know what we have. That isn’t what I asked,” Peter snapped. “I need a new goddamn plan whether we have real soldiers or not. We have to figure out the Clan’s weakness. Taking Jaz didn’t make ’em surrender, so I don’t think snagging more of them will work either. Put on your big-boy britches, buddy, and think this through with me.”

  Jim was quiet for a moment, and Peter let him think. Then Jim said, “Boss, what if we came at them when they couldn’t see us? If they can’t see us, they can’t hit us. Yeah, this could work. What if we came at them in the middle of the night? I’m sure we’ll set off some of their traps, but we can afford to lose another half dozen. At night, they won’t know where we are until we’re right on top of them, where our numbers will do the most good, and they can’t use those freakin’ snipers so well. Those are what got most of the hits on our people, you know.”

  Peter glanced at Jim again. Maybe he wasn’t such a caricature after all. “I’ve considered that, too. Alright, let the sheeple know the plan, and get us ready. We move out tonight.”

  * * *

  1300 HOURS - ZERO DAY +28

  Ethan sat next to Amber, Michael, and Tiffany at lunch. All the various little knots of friends were eating together today, which was understandable. They’d just faced their first test of battle as a full Clan—more than just the group he’d saved at his old bunker—and come through the other side. They had a right to show some pride.

  Michael said, “See how they’re all smiling and laughing? We all know Peter isn’t done with us, but this is the afterglow of surviving a firefight. It’s as good as sex, and even better for some people.”

  “I’m glad we’re all thrilled,” Michael’s wife, Tiffany, said. “Some of these people haven’t seen a fight before. I remember what a high I felt after our first gunfight, and it’s almost as good this time around. Li
ke the time before that, too.”

  Ethan chuckled, and said, “Between the firefight at my house, the skirmish at the garage on our way to the farm, and the encounters with the Red Locusts, I feel like a real Vet now, and I’m still riding an endorphin high this time. Michael, does that ever go away? This intense thrill after surviving a battle?”

  “Negative,” Michael replied. “Nothing ever compares to the first time, but it never gets to be routine, either. Food will always taste better, flowers look prettier, all that stuff, after every battle you get in. I’ve been through dozens, if you include the crap storm over in the Sandbox, and I’m still in a rush. No, it never gets old.”

  “The sex is better after, too,” Tiffany said with a smirk.

  Amber giggled, and Ethan suppressed a grin. It sure would be nice to find out how much better the sex was after battle…

  Michael looked Ethan in the eyes, wearing half a grin, and said, “So when are you and Amber going to find out for yourselves?”

  Ethan was taking a drink of cider when Michael said that, and he nearly choked, some cider shooting out of his nose. Did he really hear that right? Holy crap! Maybe the Clan was ready to move past Jed’s death now, in the face of this implacable enemy. “Leave it to the jarhead to be direct,” he said, wiping his face with a cloth napkin. “We, uh, haven’t really talked about that… There’s been a lot going on lately.”

  Tiffany nodded and then rested her head on Michael’s shoulder. “We’ve all been talking about it, and we think it’s time to let you two do what you want. Frank agrees, by the way. We’re not saying you have to get together, but if that’s something you both want, we won’t c-block you anymore.”

  Ethan said, “Thanks, guys. I know Amber and my friendship has been hard on you guys and Frank, what with Jed’s loss, and of course he’s missed by more than just Amber. We’ve done as you all asked, to keep the peace in the Clan. But yeah, I’m glad we can move on now if she and I decide that’s what we still want.”

  Michael’s face grew serious then, and he said, “I recommend you don’t wait too long to decide. We don’t know when Peter will be back, but it will be soon. None of us are guaranteed to still be here tomorrow, so live for today while you can. Take it from me. I lost too many friends in the Middle East who planned to do something tomorrow, but then ate an IED today. I plan on making Tiff wake the neighbors, tonight.”

  “Good point,” Ethan said. He turned to Amber. “I have some 20s things to do in the bunker tonight, with the radios and all that. I could use company.”

  Amber’s face turned a little red. “Sounds good to me. That might be the only place around here to get any alone time.”

  * * *

  0100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +29

  Cassy couldn’t sleep. She’d been in bed for hours but couldn’t stay still long enough to doze off. Instead, she found herself kicking her legs, spinning in place, doing anything but sleeping. In frustration, she left out a long breath and sat up. Screw it. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well go be useful. She’d been sleeping in clothes since learning of Peter’s approach, so she only had to slide on her boots and grab her rifle. Then she crept out of the loft room, through the overcrowded living room, and walked outside into the fresh night air.

  She looked around for a moment, enjoying the relative quiet. There were only five people on guard duty at night, working in four-hour shifts. She could only see the guard in the tower, however; the others were hidden around the perimeter with radios to alert the Clan if Peter came in the night like the boogeyman. Ethan slept in the bunker with the central radio setup, maps, and so on, so in an emergency they had a communications center in a safe place.

  Cassy couldn’t see the person in the tower well, but they could probably see her. Dean Jepson had made a couple pairs of night vision goggles out of colored film, welding goggles, high-intensity infrared LED lights, and a glue stick. A darn genius, he was, even if he was as grumpy as anyone she’d ever met. One set was kept in the guard tower, and the other was in the bunker for safekeeping, to swap out with the tower set if needed. Cassy smiled as she thought of Michael saying, “Two is one and one is none.”

  With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, Cassy decided to go keep the tower guard company. Besides, maybe an hour spent staring off into darkness would bore her to sleep. She walked slowly toward the tower, taking care not to trip on anything in the darkness. There was only faint moonlight that night, and it would really suck to be sidelined from her duties if she was foolish enough to sprain her ankle wandering around outside at night.

  Cassy slung her M4 over her shoulder and climbed up the makeshift ladder, up to the guard tower’s platform. It was barely large enough for two people, so the guard helped her up through the hatch. Cassy saw that it was Gary on duty at the moment—the man who’d sprained his wife’s wrist, but he’d behaved himself since then. He and his wife had turned into good additions to the Clan since that incident.

  “Hey, Gary. Anything moving out there?” she asked, voice nearly in a whisper.

  Gary shook his head and gave her a thumbs-up. Good, nothing going on. Cassy didn’t really expect Peter to brave the Clan’s traps in the dark, but one never knew what a desperate and deranged lunatic might try.

  Michael had said that a night attack was actually likely, but Cassy didn’t really believe it. Without electric lights, such an attack by untrained farmers would be far too bloody for a guy like Peter, who had to rely on superior numbers to get what he wanted, rather than negotiating. Too bad because Cassy would have jumped at the chance to negotiate giving herself up in exchange for the Clan’s right to be left in peace, if he could have been trusted to keep his word. If Peter wasn’t such an evil prick. If it hadn’t turned out that the guy thought he was doing the Right Thing, on a mission from God. You couldn’t negotiate with someone like that except from a position of strength. The Clan was not in a position of strength.

  “What’s on your mind?” Gary asked quietly.

  Cassy realized she’d zoned out, off in her own little world thinking about Peter and too many what-if scenarios. “Just wishing we had more options. More time to get ready for him, at least.”

  Gary shrugged. “I know. We all do. But it is what it—”

  BANG.

  A shower of blood sprayed the tower’s wall behind Gary, the bullet punching through the center of his chest and exiting his back. Gary wore a surprised look on his face. He reached out toward Cassy and opened his mouth, but all that came out was a torrent of blood, and then he collapsed. He was a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  Cassy dropped to the floor by reflex and spent half a second—a seeming eternity—staring into Gary’s now-vacant eyes. Those bastards. Anger welled up within her, replacing the spike of fear that had sent her to the floor, and she burst into motion. First she scrambled over Gary’s bloody body, reached out, and slapped a switch mounted to the wall. The switch was tied to an old siren they’d recovered. Connected to the battery power system of the homestead, the siren wailed into life.

  Then she tore the night vision goggles from poor Gary’s head and hastily donned them herself. Picking up her rifle, she peered over the edge of the guard tower’s wall, glanced, then ducked back down. She knew the flimsy walls would provide no real cover, but they offered a bit of concealment as long as she stayed down. Bitterly, the thought crossed her mind that the tower had been one of the preparations she had argued with Dean about. If only she’d let him put up the structural reinforcements, and the sandbags… But no, there had been no time.

  What if, what if, what if. Enough of that. There would be time enough later for soul-crushing guilt about Gary and what might have been if she’d listened to Dean. She shook her head to clear the thoughts.

  A bright flash and a scream from out in the Jungle announced that another one of Michael’s traps had worked, and Cassy grinned savagely. Now only some seventy to go. She brought her rifle up and, with her night vision goggles, saw two of
the White Stag people making their way out of the Jungle and into the raised beds area. Deep breath. Aim. Exhale. Fire. The muzzle flash practically blinded her, but she did see one of the approaching enemy fall over backwards, head snapping back. There would be no victory feast for that bastard. She ducked back down and crawled to the tower wall’s other end, over Gary’s body. She hardly noticed him now, focused on the fight at hand.

  Gary’s radio crackled, and Ethan’s groggy voice came out, sounding somehow both frantic and calm at the same time. “SITREP, Tower.”

  Cassy fumbled at the radio, but her hands didn’t seem to work right. “Shitty adrenaline,” she cursed, then made the damn radio work. “Clan One to base. Tower One is down. Multiple OpFor coming through the Jungle. Over.”

  There was a long pause, and Cassy imagined the chaos in the bunker right now as Ethan tried to manage a dozen radios, a dozen points of intelligence coming in so that the Clan could respond the best way possible. Odd to think the survival of the Clan might rely on Ethan’s radio skills, honed only by years of playing online games.

  Finally, the radio crackled to life again. “Clan One, you have a dozen enemy about to exit the Jungle. They’ll be on top of the foxholes in seconds. Hit them hard, we can’t let the foxholes get overrun! Over.”

  Cassy peered over the wall, and dammit if Ethan hadn’t been right. She could see one person, then another and another, all filtering out of the tall vegetation of the Jungle. She took aim, but then lost the target, and glanced over the top of her scope. The enemy fighters were sprinting toward the foxholes! Thank God they were occupied. She saw burst after burst fired from the Clanners in those holes, but more and still more enemies came out of the Jungle. She took aim, and fired. Another of the assholes dropped. She aimed at another, a woman, and dropped her in her tracks. It looked like combined fire from the foxholes and those behind the earthbag framework of a house stopped the drive. The enemy took cover behind raised garden beds, and both sides began to pop off shots at each other—mostly ineffectively.