Oddly, most of the folks they’d discovered were men. The women and children, he assumed were holed up somewhere in town, but they had yet to be found. His people had even checked basements, attics, storm shelters, and the like, and had come up empty. Perhaps the lull after the raid, before the storm, had bought them enough time to flee north. Soon, he hoped to get to the bottom of this.
Regardless, one thing was clear—none of Wyatt’s people had suspected Black of wrongdoing. In fact, they had bought his story about Wyatt being killed by one of the town’s defenders, and the detail that Palmer—AKA Black—had valiantly killed the offending man in Wyatt’s honor. They’d bought it all—hook, line, and sinker.
Now leaderless, they had latched on to a new strongman. Black. They were following him, taking his orders without question. Killing survivors wholesale and dumping their corpses in the street. Anything he’d say to do, they did. He’d only had to tell them some meaningless platitude, assuaging their guilt, to make them his willing weapons.
Palmer let out a long breath, eyeing the perfectly good buildings and infrastructure here.
“What to do with this place…”
After they’d dispose of the deadwood, as it were, and loaded up whatever supplies they could, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the remnants of this town. Turn it into an outpost, perhaps? Or maybe there was another use for this place. Still, the best option Palmer could think of was to get a few cargo trucks here and fill them to the brim with salvaged loot, food, and other supplies. It was the only option he felt viable, in the end, so he ordered two people to head back to Clarks Crossing while he and the rest took care of sweeping the rest of the town.
When his people finally arrived with necessary trucks and extra hands, Palmer beamed. “Load it up, boys,” he said, and they got busy doing as told.
Damn, it was amazing to be in charge. For once in his life, he felt like he was in control of his own destiny. And now, he not only had the resources but the manpower to create whatever destiny he desired, his own little empire. He puffed out his chest a little more with each demand he dished out.
And each time they did as he told them, without a hint of questioning or dissent, he had to focus even more to keep a smile off his face. Hell, that was the hardest part of taking over the whole thing. Yes, the serious look he wore like a mask would have to stay, but inside, he was ecstatic.
The redheaded man hurried up to him, the same man Palmer had helped before the attack had even begun. “What should we do with these bodies? They’re piling up quick.”
“Go find a couple working pickup trucks and load them up.”
“Then what?”
Palmer scrunched his face, thinking back to the intel he’d overheard about this township. His eyebrows rose. “The quarry. Load ’em up and dump them in the quarry. It’s half-filled with water, from what I remember.”
That would solve the immediate problem of what to do with all of these bodies. They couldn’t just leave them here. He was sure nobody in Clarks Crossing knew where exactly they were “salvaging” today, but if anyone put two and two together, they could discover what he had done there. And that would be devastating. The last thing the people of Clarks Crossing needed to know was where their precious resources came from. Wyatt had known that, and his death hadn’t changed that basic truth. Sheep didn’t want to know about the blood covering their free grass for grazing.
Judging by the agreeing nod from the redhead, his wolves knew that truth, too, instinctively. “Okay. On it,” said the redhead.
“Let me know if there are any issues.”
“Of course, sir.” The man grabbed another, and they ran off.
Palmer kept his gaze stony, but savored that word for a moment. Sir. His plan was already working, and there was no limit to what he could accomplish if he could get even more devoted people, like this young man rushing off to put Palmer’s plan into action.
A couple of hours before sundown, they had the trucks loaded up, and had used three working pickups they’d found around town to cart the bodies away. Sure enough, the quarry was about a quarter mile outside of town, and half-filled with water. He wasn’t sure if it was the best option, but in the amount of time they had before the sun set, the quarry would have to do for now as a resting place for these bastards. The only bodies they’d bring back would be that of Wyatt and any of their men and women of Clarks Crossing who deserved to be buried in their hometown.
Palmer let a grin slip as he scanned around, spotting a familiar face approach him. “Gary, did you find anyone at the elementary school?”
“We checked the entire building. Nobody there.”
“So, we still haven’t figured out the mystery of the missing women and children?”
“Unfortunately, no. But what would we have done with a mess of women and children, anyway?”
Palmer shrugged. “One option would have been to kill them, right along with all the men and the few women we found in town.”
“You would have done that?” Gary’s eyebrows rose, but interestingly, Palmer noted, there was no outrage or shock he could hear in the man’s voice.
Palmer shrugged. “Can’t say I would have liked to, but what other choice would we have had? Letting them go would be rife with problems, you know.” His lips flatlined—he could only imagine the problems they’d have unless they found these missing people. If they had indeed escaped during the battle, word could eventually get back to the townsfolk of Clarks Crossing about what had happened here.
“Yeah, but what can ya do? I’m just glad we managed to get it all into the quarry.”
“Every last one?”
“Yeah. I double-checked. None left behind, we got it all.” Gary’s gaze was even and level. He might as well have been talking about firewood as people.
Palmer nodded and flashed a confident smile. “Good. Now, all we need to do is deliver this wonderful bounty to the people of Clarks Crossing. You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Palmer whistled and spun his hand around a few times. “Load up, everyone. Let’s get back home before sundown.”
In less than fifteen minutes, they were driving out of Nettletown, now a literal ghost town. There were many other places like this one, ripe for the picking, and Palmer couldn’t wait to plan the next raid. Clarks Crossing was about to be bursting at the seams with their newfound cornucopia…and with smiling, happy faces, all thankful to “Black” for providing it.
18
Danny Purcell glanced around at the townsfolk busy unloading the trucks into a warehouse, a street over from the main strip. Soon, those goods would become available to the people of Clarks Crossing in exchange for their work chits. The local economy was beyond fragile. Demand remained high, as always—they were an information-age society, while production capacity had been sent back to the Dark Ages—but this morning’s salvaging mission had been a godsend. It had yielded plenty of supplies, though at the expense of several lives—including the town’s leader, Wyatt—but this bounty would add a bit of slack to the supply side of the equation.
Why Wyatt had gone on this salvaging mission, Danny didn’t know. Perhaps it had been a way for him to bond with the community, though the people who went to provide security had been mostly those who were already among his most trusted fighters. Well, whatever the reason, it had gotten a good man killed.
Walking back to the high school, Danny spotted Misty, Wyatt’s widow, talking to someone from the salvaging party—the shady guy Danny only knew as “Black.” Danny considered approaching, feeling for some reason as though she needed protection, but as always, Black had his sidekick Gary standing nearby. Gary had his hands crossed over his chest, looking grim. Instead of approaching, he just made it obvious he was present.
For a moment, Misty looked stone-faced. Had she found out about her husband? Then, her eyes widened as Black said something to her, and it was clear what they were talking about.
She spotted Dann
y and rushed toward him, tears springing from her eyes. Dammit, she shouldn’t have found out like that, and definitely not from Black.
Danny wrapped his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say that might lighten the blow for her. As she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping down her cheeks, he held her tight.
Several yards away, he saw over her shoulder, Black and Gary strode away.
“Let’s help them unload,” Misty said in a cracking voice.
Danny didn’t shoot down the suggestion. Keeping busy doing a necessary task would probably help her get her mind off of losing the man she loved. They made their way to the main strip, approaching the back of the truck.
Danny glanced up and saw a redheaded man named Zach carrying a case of canned ravioli. Priceless in this new world. Another man handed down a large pack of toilet paper to Misty, and she took it to the warehouse loading dock, where a few men were waiting to take in more supplies, ready to categorize it and add it to the inventory ledger.
A gray-haired man kept an eye on everything. Danny didn’t know him but had seen him in Wyatt’s office before—he’d always been a trusted member of the town, and he’d ensure all of this would end up in the economy, rather than being skimmed off by unscrupulous characters. Danny had heard that he’d long tried to get Wyatt to kick out the stands and tents that threatened to block the docks from truck access, but Wyatt had refused.
Danny wondered what Black would do about that, given how everyone seemed to be kissing his feet around here.
“Did you hear?” Zach said softly, handing the case down.
Danny glanced over at Misty, then back at Zach, nodding. “I know Wyatt didn’t come home. What the hell happened out there? It was supposed to be an in-and-out scavenging mission, and maybe some trading with whatever locals were there. Wyatt said it looked empty, but you know, no place is really empty.”
“There were people there, yeah. Wyatt tried to trade with them, after we had scavenged out the other end of town and found them in the process, but they didn’t give us a chance to get out. They just started firing, man.”
Danny kept his eyes fixed to Zach’s face, but the man didn’t return his solid eye contact. Was he telling the truth? Or did something else entirely happen? “Who did?”
“The people in the town. Things got ugly fast, then.”
“I thought the place was supposedly deserted. Why didn’t the scouts Wyatt sent ahead find those survivors? And how could a handful of squatters have been a big enough threat to kill Wyatt, of all people, when he was surrounded by his own people?”
“Empty, yeah. That’s what we thought. Then, when we realized the mistake and that it wasn’t empty, we tried leaving with the salvage we’d already gathered, but they shot at us. It was a surprise, and we kind of scattered for cover, but that’s when they chased down Wyatt. Black, he tried helping him. Almost did, but it was just…too late for Wyatt.”
“Black, huh?”
“Yeah. And Black killed the guy who murdered Wyatt.”
“Did anyone see it go down?”
Zach shook his head. “We were all running for cover. But if it hadn’t been for Black, we would never have made it out at all. Most of us woulda ended up like poor Wyatt.”
Danny let out a huff. Something wasn’t quite right. “So, how did you get all this loot, then? Why didn’t you simply escape? Why bother with trying to keep all this stuff—even going so far as to call for a couple more transports?”
“The people of the town fled. Once Black started organizing us, and we could fight back, there were just a lot more of us than them. They saw the writing on the wall and faded.”
Or they were massacred.
Danny’s heart thudded in his chest at the thought. No. There was no way that happened, even if Black had something to do with Wyatt’s death. The people of Clarks Crossing weren’t murderers. Wyatt’s salvaging squads were made up of people Danny had known a long time—they wouldn’t massacre a town, kill for resources. He was just being paranoid. But…he didn’t feel paranoid. He swallowed hard.
Nodding, Danny’s only reply was, “I see.” He hefted the case of ravioli and started toward the loading dock. “I’ll be right back.”
As he walked, his mind spun. Something was going on, and he would get to the bottom of it. The story just didn’t make sense. Not with all these scavenged supplies found in a town with people living in it. Not if they’d scattered until they could form a defense. Wouldn’t the supplies have been left behind when they ran? Wouldn’t the squatters have taken it when they fled? Hell, wouldn’t the squatters have found all the supplies long before Wyatt’s salvage teams had arrived?
No, it didn’t make sense. Something was wrong, and in the back of his mind, dark clouds loomed. Black clouds.
After helping unload the truck, Danny headed back to the high school. Outside, a few men talked with Black and Gary, who seemed to look at these new men a certain way—with respect. But those two were strangers. What did the people of Clarks Crossing know about the two? They had information about Wyatt’s daughter, that’s all. Nothing more. For all anyone knew, that information was bogus, and would lead the search parties astray rather than closer. But, Danny realized with a sigh, even he couldn’t have just ignored the chance they were being honest. With Wyatt gone and Misty’s heart breaking, it had become more important than ever to find Brooke, alive.
Black came around the corner from outside, as Danny headed back. He motioned to Danny as he approached. “Just the person I need to talk to.”
Danny’s eyebrows rose. “Me? About what?”
“Follow me,” Black said, waving for him to follow.
Where were they going?
Gary stepped up on Danny’s other side, sandwiching him between the two men. They herded him up the steps into the school, then followed a familiar path to the principal’s office—Wyatt’s office.
“Why are we going here?” Danny asked.
“I’d like to see Wyatt’s plans for other towns where we can salvage,” Black said.
Heat flushed in Danny’s face. “Who are you to—”
“And I’ll need a report of the inventory from today’s mission,” Black cut in, eyes fixed solely on Danny, as if he were boring a hole straight through his head. “We need to make sure all the people who were out there with us get a good share of the salvage. Extra work chits for their contribution. It’s dangerous out there—a lot of lunatics—and they should be rewarded for putting their asses on the line.”
“But I’m not sure—”
Gary stepped further into Danny’s personal space, until their shoulders brushed. “Wouldn’t you agree with Black on this?”
“I do…But I don’t see why you two have any say in how we operate in Clarks—”
Gary lunged at Danny, grabbing his shirt, and slammed him against the wall.
“Stand down,” Black said, putting a hand up.
Gary did as Black told him.
What the hell was it with these two? Danny’s mouth went agape at what had just happened, but before he could say a word, Black got real close.
“I want you to listen carefully,” Black said, steely gaze unwavering. “The only way the people of this town will survive the coming winter is with capable leadership. You know this. Wyatt was a capable leader, but now he’s dead. It sucks, but it’s the simple truth. I wish I could have saved him, but I was too late.” Black paused for dramatic effect.
Danny didn’t buy it. Something about Black’s tone told Danny his suspicions were well-deserved, though he couldn’t have explained why. Nonetheless, he felt it in his bones—Black had something to do with Wyatt’s death. Danny kept his expression carefully neutral, though, keenly aware of Gary looming beside him. That man was scary. Danny merely nodded, once.
Black continued, “After we got back, Gary and I took a look around, and nobody seems fit to take over. Wyatt was the only leader this place had available—a shame, if
you ask me. So, for the sake of everyone here—including you and your friend, Misty—I’m going to do my damnedest to ensure this town has all the food it’ll ever need. The supplies it needs. All the protection it’ll ever need. And if you stand in my way as I achieve these goals, that would make you an enemy of this fine town, and you will be removed.”
In silence, Black stared into his eyes, and he had to fight the urge to look away.
Two seconds passed, then Black asked quietly, “Do I make myself clear?”
Danny glared as he considered his next words carefully. If he put up any sort of fight, he thought it was certain that he’d end up like Wyatt. And his friend, Misty, would suffer the most—they’d probably keep her alive for other reasons, even if the blow of losing her husband and one of her only true friends at once didn’t kill her…
Danny envisioned himself with both hands around this guy’s neck, but he was no match against Black’s strength, or his pit bull’s. No, they would have no trouble “removing” him, if he gave them any reason to think it was in their own best interests to do so.
Danny cleared his throat. “Crystal clear, sir.”
“Good,” Black said, giving him one hard pat on the shoulder, and his face lit up into a warm and friendly smile. “Now, let’s go over Wyatt’s plans. Then we’ll see what kind of supplies we have to work with, then I’ll come up with a plan for getting more, based on what the tally shows we need most urgently. We all have a responsibility to these people, now, and I take that seriously.”
Black stepped over to the desk and sat in Wyatt’s chair. Wyatt’s chair…where Wyatt should have been sitting, not this goon. But as much as he wanted to beat Black with that very chair, all Danny could do was sit in the seat opposite him, resigned to cooperating with his friend’s killers. For now. Danny forced a smile—Gary stood nearby, ready to carry out his master’s wishes.
Danny swallowed hard. Clearly, Black had staged a coup, but with Wyatt gone, who could stop him? The window for someone to step up into Wyatt’s shoes was small, and that clock was ticking. Wyatt’s daughter, Brooke, might have been able to rally people, and she was definitely smart enough to have seen what was happening and get her mother’s not inconsiderable support, but Brooke wasn’t there. Misty? No, at the moment, she was there among the living in name only—her husband was dead, her daughter missing, and politics and his conspiracy theories were the last thing on her mind.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 12