EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem

by Russell, Mark J.

  Danny clenched his jaw. Taxes kept us safe from people like Black, not protection money…

  But he said only, “Yes, they’re paying a lot to feel safe. Anyway, I’m not sure who Roxbury needs protection from.”

  “Bandits?”

  “Well, they may only be a small town, but they’re surrounded by state forest land, far from the big highways bandits follow.” Like Black was planning on doing, unless he could get away to warn people of Black’s plan…“It’s amazing how much fur and hide they’re sending our way, not to mention truckloads of charcoal. Not that we don’t have trees, but I guess they set up what passes for industrial-scale production by today’s standards. Black says they’ll send more each month, too.”

  Misty flashed a faint smile. “It seems everyone here gets to stay warm this winter, even though we haven’t had time to chop hundreds of cords of wood.”

  Danny half expected her to mention Wyatt there, but for once, she didn’t. He had to remind himself she was hurting, though—of course her dead husband was heavy on her mind. Well, he was going to do his damn best to make sure what happened to him didn’t happen to his widow, when Black showed his colors and things went downhill fast. They would, inevitably. That animal couldn’t hide his true self forever. Getting rid of Black before that happened was urgent.

  “On that note, I guess I should go get ready for the run. Do you need anything from me before I go? Boxes you need moved?”

  She shook her head, and after a quick farewell embrace, he walked out the door, wondering if he’d ever see it—or his friend inside—again.

  25

  Home. Danny was going to miss it.

  The three-quarter-ton pickup jostled heavily as it and the trailer attached to it sped down the forest road, mere feet from the bumper of the next truck in line. He stared out the window, heart racing as he played his plan over and over in his head. It was far from foolproof, but it was the only plan he had.

  It would have to work. Or, it didn’t have to, which was why he couldn’t catch his breath as he waited for the right opportunity to launch it. The milepost signs on the way back to Clarks Crossing flashed by, one after the other, and he was left to count them, his goal getting closer, and closer…

  And then it whizzed by, outside his window. It was show time, ready or not. Danny was definitely not ready, but what choice did he have? He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, then said, “Hey, pull over. I need a pit-stop.”

  Mark, driving, shook his head. “No way, man. Hold it. These woods are loaded with hungry survivors, maybe hungry enough to try to eat you. And me, if I pull over. Which, I’m not. Just hold it.”

  Danny frowned. “If I piss on the seat because you can’t pull over for thirty seconds, you’re cleaning it.”

  “The hell I am.”

  “The hell you aren’t.” Danny grinned, though it almost hurt to do so. “Rank has its privileges, my man.”

  “Dammit.” Mark glared over at his passenger. “You know I hate you, right?”

  “Feeling’s mutual. That’s why I put extra socks in your last allotment.”

  “Now I really hate you,” Mark said, then let out a long breath. “Fine. It’s your ass, not mine, if we get yelled at.”

  Danny laughed. “Who’s going to yell at me? Maybe Black, when we get back, but only if we miss our window. I’m only going to pee, man. One minute, tops.”

  He felt the truck lurch when Mark tapped the brakes once, alerting the truck behind him, and then slowly drifted out of formation onto the road’s shoulder before easing into the brakes to slow to a stop.

  Almost immediately, a blue Jeep Wrangler broke formation from up front of the convoy, stopped, and then its reverse lights lit up.

  “Aw, crap. Here comes trouble,” Mark said. “Remember, it’s your ass, not mine.”

  “I remember,” Danny said, scrambling from the vehicle. He had only moments to enact his plan. He rushed to the rear passenger-side fender, glancing at the side mirror he’d turned inward when he first got into the truck. Of course, it was still tucked in; they hadn’t stopped once since picking up the supply shipment. As soon as he got to the back wheel, he knelt and pulled a knife from its sheath at his boot, then plunged the blade into the tire. Some vehicles had a spare under the bed, and if this one did, his escape would be foiled. But he’d specifically chosen a truck that had no spare tire visible, so his odds were pretty good, he figured.

  Then, he let loose a stream of urine on the flat tire, in case anyone looked, so he’d be seen doing what he said he’d been doing. He was still at it when the mission lead hopped from the Jeep and stormed over. “Danny, what in the actual hell, man?”

  Danny shrugged, zipping up his jeans. “When you gotta go, you gotta go. I didn’t think you’d want to clean my piss out of the upholstery, and Mark didn’t seem excited about that job, either.”

  He met the lead’s gaze and held it. Heartbeats marked the seconds going by.

  At a count of eight, the lead looked down at the tire, and his glare turned into a frown. “Seriously? You jokers are driving on a flat?”

  “A what?” Danny cocked his head to one side.

  “Flat tire. F-L-A-T. Dumbass, look down.”

  Danny looked at the wheel, then jumped back. “Whoa. When did that happen?”

  Mark, climbing from the cab, came around to see what everyone was looking at. He let out a low whistle and said, “Well, at least it wasn’t a blowout. This can be fixed.”

  The lead shook his head. “This would happen on the one vehicle without a spare.”

  “Tough luck,” Danny said. “Well, I can go scout for a replacement, and—”

  “No,” the lead said, cutting him off. “We don’t have time for that, and I don’t have time to hold up the whole convoy for one flat tire. One of us will have a spare that fits. You stay here.”

  Danny started to protest, but the lead turned his back and stormed away before he got a chance. Shrugging, he turned to Mark. “Why don’t you go with them? No point in both of us being late, and I can change a tire by myself.”

  Worry dawned on him. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through, but then again, it had been rather spur of the moment…

  Another man, not the lead, walked briskly from the convoy to Danny’s trailing position with a spare tire hefted over one shoulder. He dumped it off in front of Mark and Danny. “You two, stay here and fix this mess with the flat, and then get moving. Do it fast. That’s a direct order. The rest of us are going to pull out. Danny, you change the tire. Mark, stay on overwatch. Keep your eyes peeled for trouble. There’s bandits in these woods.”

  Danny nodded, marveling at the irony of that statement. There most certainly were bandits in these woods, and he was looking at them. “Okay, tell the boss we’re on it.”

  The two men watched as the others left, and when brake lights began turning off all down the line, Mark said, “Well, I guess we better get to it. Don’t even think about trying to talk me into changing that tire. Orders are orders, after all.” He smiled.

  Danny grinned back. Then, he pulled the tire jack out from its case, in the back, and began fiddling with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Mark set his shotgun barrel over one shoulder and then leaned up against one of the front fenders, leaving Danny to his work.

  His mind raced, far faster than his shaky hands. How could he get away? His original hasty plan had been simply to vanish while out scouting for a tire. But now, the error of that plan had been driven home rather forcefully. His whole plan was shot, and he wouldn’t likely get another chance to escape. Not in time. Certainly not with so little personal risk.

  A shadow appeared over the tire, disturbing his inner monologue of doubt. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Mark standing a couple feet behind him. He said, “There’s not a lot of light in these woods, even without you standing over me. Go watch the forest, so I can see what I’m doing.”

  Mark’s smile was gone. He shook his head. “I didn’t
want to say anything in front of the others, not until I was sure. But it seems to me, that hole in the sidewall sure looks a whole lot like a knife cut. And you were out here long enough to do it, before the lead came back. I know damn well we didn’t hit anything out there on the road.”

  Danny shook his head, eyes growing wide. “You don’t know that. We could have—”

  “No.” Mark spit into the ground. “Not one of them other trucks hit it, either. You got some plan, some reason for cutting our own tire. I thought it was weird that you would leave town in a truck that had no spare. What, you didn’t notice that in your inspection before we left? You notice everything. No, you picked this truck on purpose. And you cut the tire. Maybe you didn’t figure the convoy would have a spare that would fit? So, what was your plan, man? Just be honest.”

  Danny carefully set the tire iron down before he stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We had to leave in a hurry, and this truck had a spare a week ago, the last time I used it. I just didn’t notice.”

  “Bull. You notice all those things. It’s why you got the job you do. So, I got to ask myself, why would a man with a cushy job, like you, risk everything cutting a tire to jack one truck out of a convoy heading home? A truck full of stuff your own people need.”

  Electrical jolts ran from Danny’s scalp down to his lower back, and down both arms, raising the hairs and threatening to make him shiver. He fought to stifle the reaction, though, and said, “I wouldn’t. That’s the answer, of course. Why would I do that?”

  Mark pushed his lips out, making a duck face. Then, he replied, “This truck is full of canned food. A man could live a long time on a stash like this. And I been watching you—I see how you look at Black, and it ain’t friendly. Maybe you figured it should’ve been you in charge, after Wyatt got killed.”

  “No, no…” Danny heard himself saying, over and over. He took a step backward, but immediately backed into the vehicle. “You got it all wrong. Black, he’s the one I think killed Wyatt. I can’t prove it, but—”

  Mark roared, “Traitor!” He swung his shotgun off his shoulder.

  Time froze. This can’t be happening. But it was happening, all too quickly. Some part of Danny’s mind recognized a metallic feeling on his hand, which had somehow found his jacket pocket—his knife, which he hadn’t had time to sheathe before the convoy lead had come into view.

  The next thing Danny knew, something thick and wet and hot was streaming over his hand, the one gripping his knife handle—the blade attached to that had somehow become buried in Mark’s neck.

  Mark dropped his shotgun, both hands streaking to his neck in panic; he ripped the dagger out, slicing through the side of his neck, easily doubling the wound’s original size. Where before it had gushed, now a great stream of blood arced all over the truck, pulsing with his heartbeat.

  “I’m so sorry,” Danny heard himself scream, but Mark turned his back and staggered toward the truck’s hood. Perhaps he was going to try to get in and drive away on a flat tire, but Danny couldn’t make his feet move to intercept his staggering victim. He watched, horrified, as Mark reached the right front fender before collapsing to his knees.

  Mark let out a grotesque sound, a gurgling moan, and then collapsed face first onto the pavement. He twitched for a while before he was still.

  Danny watched the whole thing, petrified. There would be no going back, he realized with dawning horror. Murder…Even if he could bring himself to face his friends and neighbors after this, they would as soon hang him as look at him.

  Or maybe there was still a way out of it. A new thought occurred to him, then: No one had seen him kill Mark. No one was here to see him leave, either. He had half an hour, at most, before somebody came looking for him, so he had to be gone by then, or they really would string him up. And rightfully so.

  A sort of autopilot took over, and he felt like he was watching someone else control his movements, like he was a passenger in his own body. First, he grabbed the fallen shotgun, then tossed it into the truck cab. He rushed through changing the tire, desperately trying to ignore the sight of his companion lying only feet away in a pool of his own blood.

  Once he changed the tire, he rolled the cut one off the shoulder and into the bushes. Then, he grit his teeth and walked to Mark. This has to look legit.

  Quickly, he stripped off Mark’s shoes, his watch, the necklace he always wore.

  He grabbed the man’s duty belt, which carried a water bottle and a few tools.

  He walked over to his fallen knife and picked it up, grimacing. There was no way to avoid touching the blood on it, blood that still covered his hand anyway. Mark’s blood…Would that ever come off? Would he feel that sticking to his skin at night, while he tried to fall asleep? Would his dreams let him forget it, or would they force him to relive it?

  Time for the worst part. Danny walked slowly over to Mark, each step almost painful. He bent down, and when he stood back up, Mark’s right ear lay in his bloody hand. Sorry, Mark. Raiders take trophies.

  He stuffed the gruesome proof of a raider attack into his coat pocket, so that no one inspecting the scene could find it tossed under some bush somewhere, and walked stiff-legged to the truck cab before hopping into the driver’s seat.

  Revving the engine, he backed up far enough to turn around without hitting his fallen companion—the least he could do for the man he’d just mutilated—then raced away. His speed kept creeping upward, as if he could out-race the image of Mark’s life flowing out over his hand. He couldn’t distance himself fast enough. He had to force himself to slow back to a safe speed, but it did little to slow the whirlwind of tortured thoughts racing through his head. Why did the lead leave Mark behind? And why did Mark have to go for the rifle? He could have talked, instead…Then maybe Danny could have talked him into coming, or just convinced him to let him go. Anything but the way it had actually gone down.

  But Danny realized he’d panicked, when he could have thought of some way to talk himself out of it instead, and a good man was dead because of it.

  Hopefully, everyone would think he and Mark had been hit by bandits, robbed, and that they’d taken Danny while Mark had been left for dead. He didn’t yet know how he could ever confirm whether they had drawn that conclusion, not without actually coming back. He’d think of something, though. The important thing was that they bought the story, or Mark’s death would truly have been in vain, and only giving a good man’s death some meaning had given Danny the strength to do what he’d done after.

  Well, he had known he would be making a great sacrifice to rid his people of the monster, Black, even if he hadn’t known then just how great the sacrifice would be.

  He drove away with tears in his eyes.

  26

  Abram awoke to a soft tapping. He lifted his head from where he had fallen asleep, sitting with his back against one wall, and looked around. Then, he heard it again—soft, deliberate taps on the heavy office door. He looked around, but the others remained asleep. He climbed to his feet and walked over to the door, placing his ear against it. Softly, he said, “Hello?”

  From the other side, a woman’s muffled voice replied, “Is it true that one of y’all is Kent’s daddy?”

  Abram bit his lip. But…they had already said that, so there was no harm in repeating it. “Yes, that’s true.”

  The woman on the other side replied, “Can I come in? You all won’t hurt me, right? I want to meet his daddy.”

  Abram said, “No, of course we won’t hurt you. It’s Kent’s father-in-law, though, not his biological father.”

  “That don’t matter.” There was a pause, then the metallic clink of locks being unlocked, chains being unchained.

  Abram counted no less than five locks, possibly six. They’d been serious about keeping that door shut…

  The door opened just far enough to let in a slender woman of about Abram’s height, a bit gangly, but pretty enough for such
a young woman. Her eyes darted all around the room, taking it in. Good, she was alert and wary. At least she wasn’t an idiot.

  Abram whispered, “How did you get in?”

  She looked him in his eyes as she replied, “I’m Kent’s girlfriend. I’ll make their lives hell if they don’t look the other way. So, they do.”

  Abram felt himself smiling. She was a firecracker, this one. That could be good for him and his people, if she took a liking to them. “I don’t doubt you’d do it, too. I imagine you want to talk to his father-in-law, yes?”

  She nodded.

  Abram led her over to where Frank lay on one side, to sleep with his back against the wall, and bent down to nudge him awake. “Frank, wake up. Don’t wake anyone, it’s okay. This young lady wishes to speak with you.”

  “Wha? Who?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then blinked away sleep as he focused on the young woman. “Oh. Hello. How can I help you?”

  She was silent for a long moment, seconds ticking by as her eyes roamed his face. At last, though, she gave him one curt nod and said, “I’m Kent’s girlfriend. He never mentioned you. I was curious just why that’s so.”

  “Is that so?” Frank frowned.

  She nodded again.

  “Well, we didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things.”

  “Your daughter,” she said, nodding. “So why are you here, then? Revenge? No cops to stop you from giving back what you figure he’d done to her?”

  Frank blinked quickly. “What? No. That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t. Lotsa folks are running around now, evening the scores. It’s a problem.”

  He stared her in the eyes for a couple of seconds, then shook his head. “No. I promise you, it’s nothing like that. Is Kent planning on letting us out anytime soon? Or coming to talk to us? We’re here for a reason, even though it isn’t revenge.”

  “Okay, then, what’s the reason? If Kent never talked about you, then I don’t reckon you two parted on good terms.”