Ascending the steps, Abram heard shouting coming from the kitchen and his reeling mind went into overdrive.
“Abram? Where are you?”
Stomping up the stairs, Abram reached the kitchen and found Nick and his son, Corey, both wearing terrified looks. He set his gaze on Nick. “What’s going on?”
Nick motioned for Abram to follow him. To Corey, he said, “Stay here. And not a word about this to anyone, do you hear?”
Corey nodded but remained silent. He looked like he was ready to vomit.
“Slow down,” Abram called to Nick, who was already ten yards ahead of him. “Tell me, what’s going on?”
“We found something in the woods,” came Nick’s frantic reply. “Just…follow me. I’ll show you.”
Abram’s brows knit. What had they found? The suspense was killing him—from the way Nick and Corey had looked, it was certainly bad news.
Out the gate they went, and Abram did his best to keep up with Nick, who was at a near sprint.
“Out here,” Nick called over his shoulder.
Ahead, Nick came to a halt, staring down at something in the brush. Abram stepped toward him, and a familiar smell of rot hit his nostrils. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his nose, coming closer to whatever Nick was now pointing at.
Peering down, Abram’s eyes went wide. “Is that…”
Nick nodded.
There, on the ground, the man he recognized as Joshua lay face up. He’d been gutted like a fish, and appeared to have been out here only a few days. Black flies swarmed around the man’s sliced-open gut, and Abram’s eyes caught sight of a blood trail that led to a spot only a few yards away, where a pile of entrails lay. Whoever had done this to Joshua had moved his body out of sight, leaving his internal organs behind in the spot where he’d been eviscerated.
“What do we do?” Nick asked, shock still painted on his face.
“Get Owen, Tom, and Frank together for an emergency meeting,” Abram said, meeting Nick’s gaze. “Let’s keep this hush-hush for now—no need to start a panic here.”
Nick frowned. “Just because they’re women doesn’t mean—”
Abram inhaled so sharply, it made a hissing sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just busy doing things I want them to stay focused on. Owen, Tom, and Frank are working on things that don’t make us starve if they don’t get done right now.”
“Oh—”
“If you are quite done reading your baggage into my instructions, can we get a move on?”
Nick looked down and nodded before running off.
Corey spotted Emma rushing into the room. Taking one look at his face, she skidded to a halt. She approached, seeming hesitant, and raised one hand to place it on his shoulder. “My god, Core. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You okay?”
He jumped slightly at her touch. His father’s words echoed in his mind: “Not a word about this to anyone, do you hear?” His father was right, and he had to be strong like him too. It was the first time he felt he needed to protect Emma. She didn’t need to know what he had seen.
He exhaled before turning to face Emma. “Yeah.” His own voice sounded alien to him.
In truth, he couldn’t believe Joshua was dead. In a way, he kind of had seen a ghost—the ghost of Good Samaritans Past. Joshua had been the one who helped his family find the compound. He’d been a good person. But after he was turned away—Corey hadn’t ever been truly certain as to why, though he had his suspicions—it wasn’t until then that Joshua had turned against the very people he’d helped.
It had been a powerful lesson about trusting strangers, though one had to take that risk eventually to survive in this new world. Certainly, Corey and his family wouldn’t still be alive if Abram hadn’t taken that chance on them. But trusting the wrong person could get you gutted and left for the coyotes.
Joshua’s image, entrails dragged behind him outside the compound, continued to flash through his mind, making his stomach churn, and not only because of the scent of death still heavy in his nostrils.
“Tell me what’s going on, Corey,” Emma said.
“Can’t.” Didn’t want to. Actually, unburdening himself would help, but to say it aloud, to relive it once again…Nope.
“Can’t? Or won’t? Tell me what’s going on. Seriously, just tell me, Core.”
This was the third time she’d asked him, but he just shook his head no. He could barely keep his lunch down, his stomach still churning from what he’d seen.
“I’ll find out about it eventually,” she said. “Wouldn’t you rather I hear it from you?”
It was true—Emma had a way about her, eavesdropping on private conversations, and she would find out about it sooner or later. Besides that, Corey wasn’t sure how long he could hold this in. Part of him just wanted to let it out, if only to unburden his mind. And here was Emma, trying to pry it out of him as he struggled to hold it in.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you. But it’s between me and you, you understand?”
“Of course. I won’t say a word, I promise.”
“Okay, so I found Joshua’s body…”
The air hung thick between them, and Emma’s eyes grew wide as saucers.
“Are you sure?” Emma asked, voice small.
“No doubt about it, it was him. He was gutted, Em. Some sicko cut him open right outside the compound.”
“Why?”
“Who the hell knows.”
“So, some psycho is out there, and knows where we are?”
Corey nodded. “That about sums it up.”
“I know my dad is worried about Gary, about more bandits, but somehow, this just feels…”
“Worse.”
“Yeah. Much worse.”
Nick glanced around at Abram, Owen, Tom, and Frank, who had assembled out in the upper barn, and all their voices seemed to meld into one.
“Okay…now, slow down,” Tom said, glancing at Abram. “Who is Joshua, again?”
Abram cleared his throat. “He brought Nick here, right after the lights went out. We, uh, we turned him away, and then he told Cindy Hammel where we were. That led to Emma being kidnapped.”
“And who’s Cindy Hammel?” Owen asked.
Nick spoke up. “The wife of the man Gary killed.”
Frank wore a scowl, steely gaze fixed on Abram. “That bastard is going to be the death of us, you know? He’s out there somewhere, doing who knows what, and you know we haven’t seen the last of him. And you damn well know that he tipped over the first domino that led to some psychopath finding their way to the compound. I mean, we have no idea who killed Joshua.”
Nick let out a long breath. That was a good question, and one he couldn’t get off his mind. Who killed Joshua? He noticed the furrowed brows surrounding him.
Owen let out a huff. “Another question is, where is the person who killed Joshua?”
“Maybe it was one of the bandits,” Tom said. “Maybe they’re dead, and all we have to worry about is Gary.”
Abram’s lips flatlined. “As much as I’d like to believe that, we can’t count on it. We have to assume that whoever did that to Joshua is still out there, and they now have knowledge of the compound.”
Owen’s eyebrows rose. “Do you think Gary killed Joshua? You know, as he was escaping during the attack? Joshua could have had a knife on him, and Gary could’ve gotten hold of it and killed him.”
“I’ve known Gary most of my life. He isn’t the type to gut a man.”
“Are you sure?” Frank asked. “Didn’t seem like you thought he’d be capable of shooting a man in cold blood, but he did. How you didn’t see those warning signs is beyond me, but here we are.”
Abram shot Frank a look. “Warning signs?”
“Oh, please…when you and your buddy were setting everything up, I came down a few times when you were inside, and I spoke to Gary at length. Even before the whole world came tumbling down, he seemed off his rocker. It was sub
tle, but there was a hint something was off with that man.”
“Listen, I don’t think Gary killed Joshua,” Abram said, his words cutting the air. “And what motive would he have had? Especially in the midst of an attack. He murdered a man, but he had reasons for it. Not good ones, by everyone else’s standard, but nonetheless…No, I believe Gary wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, so he didn’t take a bullet like Cindy had. He’s not the one, however much that would simplify things for us all.”
Nick nodded, seeing Cindy’s dead body in his mind’s eye. They’d found her in the “jail cell” shortly after the attack. For a moment, he didn’t mind the image of her corpse—it sure beat the horror show that was Joshua’s remains.
Tom ran a hand through his hair. “So, we have a gutted body, an unknown lunatic who may or may not still be alive, and a hot-headed man who knows every last intimate detail of this compound, since he helped build it. Anything else?”
Abram cleared his throat again. “The bandits are organizing and being absorbed into a town up north. I heard they are already raiding towns, near Nettletown.”
Frank threw both hands in the air. “What are we doing here, Abram? Do we even have a plan?”
“Or do we know which town it is that’s absorbing the bandits?” Tom asked.
“Even if we knew that, what could we do then?” Frank asked, face now beet red.
Nick held up a hand. “Hold up, everyone. Is there any way we can find out more about this town?”
There were a few moments of silence, then Frank spoke up. “My son-in-law…oh, never mind.”
“Your son-in-law?” Nick asked. “Where is he?”
Frank grimaced. “Kent Brockman, the ‘Honorable’ Mayor of Burnsville. That bastard won’t want to bother with me. Not after what happened.”
Everyone turned to Frank, expectant looks on their faces.
Abram frowned, however. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Frank said through clenched teeth. “Kent’s a sonuvabitch. Last time we spoke, I told him off something fierce.”
“What did he do?” Tom asked.
“Well, my daughter was going through chemo treatments before she passed. He was working to pay for continued treatments and to make ends meet. I gave as much as I could to help out, but we don’t make much with the farm. So, he took what I gave him and said he’d figure out a way to get the rest of the money they needed. Long story short, that damn bastard gambled away my money…My daughter died a few months later.”
“Sorry, Frank,” Abram said, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder.
Frank nodded, face still red.
“Sonuvabitch or not, he’s the mayor of a town nearby,” Nick said. “Maybe he can help us, and not screw it up this time.”
“Maybe you can get him on the radio?” Tom asked, but he was looking at Abram.
Abram pinched his lips. “I can try.”
Nick snapped his fingers and pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against in the crowded room. “How long will that take?”
“Depends if they even have a ham radio in Burnsville.”
Owen said, “Well, then, we might have to make a trip up there.”
“Sooner than later,” Nick added.
“I’ll try them on the radio,” Abram said. “If I can’t get in touch with him in the next few days, we’ll make the trip, but I’d rather not split us all up right now.”
“Next few days?” Nick frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned back up against the wall. “Do you think we should wait that long?”
“It’ll be better if we don’t have to travel.”
“Yeah, but…I mean…Don’t we have enough fuel to spare?”
“That’s not the issue. We still have more than enough. I just don’t like the idea of going out there if we don’t absolutely have to. Like I said, if I can’t reach them, we’ll head out in the next few days. I figure we’ll just keep this as a small group. Me, Owen, and Frank. Be ready, in case, but just hang tight until then.”
“What about me?” Nick asked.
“You’re worried about a hypothetical. What’s not hypothetical is that those towers have to go up, even with some of us gone. We can’t stop working on them over this trip, if it happens. You’ll need to stay and help with those guard towers and keep an eye on this place.”
Nick nodded, though he couldn’t keep himself from clenching his jaw tightly.
Abram continued, “This trip shouldn’t take long, but remember, Gary is still out there somewhere, and perhaps whoever gutted Joshua. Not to mention, bandits. Sooner or later, we’re going to be glad we added more towers—we’ll have trouble on our hands before long.”
Nick tucked his hands under his arms even tighter but nodded. If they were going to leave, it would be better to do it now, not days from now, but he’d talk to Abram about timing later, when he wasn’t likely to feel like Nick was putting him on the spot in front of everyone.
Palmer strode in front of the man who wouldn’t reveal his identity. He knew the feeling—he’d given a false name himself. Black. What kind of name was that? It was what the country had become since the grid went down. But it was the way his heart felt at how he’d been treated in the past. Society had kicked him while he was down, making his own world black. But now? Now, he had the time to rise up and take advantage of this opportunity. The playing field was level, for the first time in his life, and he wouldn’t let this chance go to waste.
Dry twigs crunched beneath his boots as he led the way, though he didn’t know where he was going. Sooner or later, he was sure he’d stumble upon a town, and he’d just say it was the town he meant. If the people and resources he’d described weren’t there—which they most likely weren’t—he’d explain away their disappearance. Perhaps they moved on, like locusts, to feed upon another town. That seemed like a suitable reason that this man would probably buy.
Palmer slowed his pace. “We should probably make camp soon.”
The man nodded. “Want to find a house to hole up in or camp out?”
“Camp out. By the time we find a building, it’ll be dark, and we should save our energy.”
In fifteen minutes, they found a suitable campsite, and Palmer got busy constructing a lean-to, but not so busy that he failed to notice the man using a trowel to dig out a Dakota fire hole. He must’ve been a survivalist of sorts to even know of the low-smoke fire pit that would help keep their camp concealed while still providing warmth.
Finishing the lean-to, Palmer motioned toward it. “I’ll take first watch.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’ll do it.”
Palmer sat down on a rock in front of the fire and the man joined him. Apparently, neither of them wanted to sleep.
The man’s eyes darted around, then set firmly on Palmer. “So, what kind of name is Black? Is it a nickname?”
Palmer met the man’s gaze, unflinching. “It’s more than a name. It’s my identity.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s how I feel about this world—even before the lights went out.”
The glow of the fire cast off the man’s face, illuminating his puzzled look.
Palmer smiled. “But yes, if you must know, it’s a nickname.”
The man nodded. He wasn’t as perceptive as Palmer had made him out to be—not one with any sort of vision, like a true leader. Perhaps he wasn’t competition, after all.
Breaking his gaze, the man looked down, eyes now set on the fire. There was something about how his eyes left Palmer’s steely gaze that made him believe that this man could make an obedient pit bull, if he were handled right. Maybe he’d even end up being a perfect right-hand man.
Palmer stared at the man. “So, how long have you been out on the road?”
The man didn’t make eye contact. “Since it started.”
“Living hand to mouth since?”
“Yeah.”
“Are yo
u ready for something better?”
“What do you mean?”
Ah, so he was hiding something. Otherwise, why stop to think before answering? Why use evasion tactics, like answering a question with a question?
Palmer kept his gaze unflinching. “I mean, are you ready to stop living hand to mouth and move on to a better life? Maybe even a life that is better than the one you had before the lights went out?”
The man looked at Palmer quizzically. “I’m not happy the lights went out. Are you?”
“Of course not.” Palmer made his face a mask that shouted disappointment. He counted slowly to three—how was that for a “pregnant pause”?—then continued, “It’s just that there’s not much we can do now, except make the best of a crappy situation.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
Palmer cracked a smile. “By ensuring that we are at the top…before it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“Don’t be naïve. Sooner or later, a true leader will rise up to fill the power void. There’s no government in place out here, no police, and so anarchy will reign supreme until strong men rise up to take control of the erratic souls who exist in a state of complete disarray. While our state representatives focus on Montpelier and other cities, we’ll be left to be ruled by whoever rises up from the ashes. Wouldn’t you rather be at the top of that pyramid?”
6
“Then, you have to give your identifier, your ‘call sign.’ Got it?”
Emma watched as her father, Abram, sat in a swivel desk chair beside her, occupying his usual perch by the ham radio.
He had crossed one leg over the other to make it easier to sit half-turned toward her, with his left hand resting on her chair back. She could practically hear the thoughts going through his head: Patience, old man…
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 4