Desperate Measures: An EMP Survival Story (EMP Aftermath Series Book 2)

by John Winchester

  "I would ask you to never speak of this to Wyatt. If it still pains him to talk about it as much as it does me, then he doesn't need to go through that again."

  Jack nodded, still reeling from the revelations. Wyatt had a son. He had a brother that lived in town, and a nephew somewhere out there. In prison or free, alive or not, nobody knew.

  It put his moral dilemma in perspective. To watch your son get shot down right in front of you, it was a terrible thing. What must Howell feel inside after being forced to pull the trigger on the son of his best friend? Jack knew how awful he felt killing the young man today. He couldn't imagine what demons must haunt the Chief.

  What would happen to him if Kenny were killed? The pain from losing a son... it would drive him mad, he knew it would. After the EMP, he had crossed half the continent to get home to his family, and he would have gone a hundred times that distance if that's what had been required. How had Wyatt let go of what happened to his son? How was he still able to talk to the Chief, the man who shot his son? What kind of hatred must he have felt and let go of? It was utterly terrifying to think about.

  Amy waved at him from the top of the hill, breaking his train of thought. She dropped her armload of firewood and hurried down the hill.

  "I won't say a word to Wyatt. I appreciate you coming along with me today. We struck out on the train, but even this little bit of food we brought back is going to help Danny get better. You've given him a chance to live. I owe you one," Jack said.

  Amy jogged down the last part of the hill, looking concerned as she drew near. "What happened to your arm? Oh my God, were you shot? Jack, are you OK?”

  "I'm fine, the bullet grazed me. It looks a lot worse than it is. Here, look at what we brought back." Jack unslung the backpack and tossed a can of chicken noodle soup to her.

  "Where did you find these? Do you have more?" she asked.

  "A whole backpack full of them. We found a train abandoned on the tracks, and a few of its cars were still filled with supplies. There was one whole boxcar full of pallets of soup, but we lost them to another group of scavengers. There was so much food. If we just could have--"

  "--Don't worry about the other food. This will give Danny the energy he needs to fight this illness and back on his feet again. Are you sure your arm is all right?"

  "Yes, its fine."

  "That's a relief. So, where is Kenny?" Amy asked.

  "He isn't here? He should have been back an hour ago. I sent him back to fetch Wyatt and the cart," Jack said.

  "Kenny never came home. Jack, where is our son?" Amy asked.

  Chapter 7

  Jack ran up the hill to the farmhouse with Amy and the Chief following close behind. A cold wind swept across the open field, kicking up frost covered leaves and bits of dust.

  "What happened? What aren’t you telling me?" Amy asked.

  "We scouted out a section of railroad we haven't been to before and found a train. Like I said, some of the boxcars had food. A lot of food. It would have changed everything for us, made surviving this winter so much easier. I sent Kenny back here to get Wyatt, Britches, and the wagon so we could haul back more than what we could carry with just the bike and the Chief’s horse. Right after that, some men showed up and started shooting. There was... something happened. Something terrible," Jack said, his voice trembling.

  He couldn't face her. Guilt gnawed at him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that man's face. He was so young, a boy really, not much older than Kenny. And now Kenny was out there alone. What if he was hurt, had fallen? He could be held captive by the very same group they encountered at the train. Jack had shot one of them, and he was pretty sure the Chief had killed another. What if they had shot him in cold blood in return for Jack and the Chief shooting one of theirs? What if he was… No, he couldn’t go there, it wouldn't help. The Chief was right about that much at least. No more 'what ifs'.

  "But what does that have to do with Kenny? Jack, what happened out there?" Amy asked.

  What would she think of him? How could he live with himself?

  "What is it, Jack? What aren't you telling me?" Amy asked.

  "I... I shot a man on the train. A young man, a kid," Jack said. A tear rolled down from the corner of his eye, freezing to his cheek in the bitterly cold wind.

  "It wasn't Jack’s fault. The boy pulled a gun on him," the Chief said. "He had no choice. That other group opened fire the second they saw us. They were looking for trouble. Jack got the backpack of cans and we got the hell out of there."

  "I never thought for a minute Kenny wouldn't be here when we got home. He left before the shootout. It just happened so fast. I never for a moment thought that he wouldn't be here when we got here," Jack said.

  Amy's eyes brimmed with tears and dropped down to her knees, sobbing. "Oh my God Jack. Where is our son? What happened to him?”

  Jack pulled Amy to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ll find him. I promise you we’ll find him and bring him home.”

  “We have to go now, Jack. We have to find him right now, before something happens to him. What if there were more of those people you ran into at the train? What if he ran into them? What if they—“

  “Slow down, Amy. We don’t know what happened. He could have gotten a flat tire on his bike. Maybe he stopped somewhere off the trail to rest and we rode right by him. Heck, he probably found a fresh set of tracks and he’s off stalking a deer to bring home for dinner. You know he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to bag fresh game for his brother,” Jack said.

  “You’re probably right, Jack, I’m just worried sick about him,” Amy said.

  “I know. I am too. Let’s go inside, it’s freezing out here.”

  He leaned his bike against the side of the house and climbed up the creaking wooden steps to the porch. His fingers were like icicles and wouldn't close around the smooth surface of the door knob. His mind went back to the previous day when Kenny was in a similar condition from being out in the cold for too long. Just a day ago, he was coming home, safe, and now he was gone.

  He stepped aside and Amy opened the door for him. He kept his boots and jacket on and sat down at the kitchen table, warming his hands in the heat radiating off of the stove.

  "I'll heat up some acorn bread for now and get you something to take with you when you go back out," Amy said, opening the cabinets and preparing a plate of food.

  "Take with you... You just got back. You're going back out there? You're still half frozen. Just where do you plan on going, Jack?" Chief Howell asked.

  "Where do you think, Chief? I'm going to find my son," he said. His fingers were warming up and he quickly ate the slices of acorn bread Amy set in front of him. He had no appetite but knew he would need his energy later if he was going to go back out into the cold and ride back to the last place he'd seen Kenny.

  "All right. I can understand why you would want to do that. But that might not be the best idea after what happened earlier. There's two dead men up there. Those people are going to be stirred up like a nest of hornets right now. You can't go back there on your own. It's too dangerous. Even their scouting team outnumbered us. There's probably more where they came from. Let me go into town and I'll get a search and rescue team together," the Chief said.

  Amy put together a cloth sack with three loaves of acorn bread, a large plastic bottle of water, and four long sticks of cured venison, and handed it to him. She also gave him a dry pair of gloves and a warm wool scarf that had been sitting by the stove in the kitchen.

  "What else do you need to bring our boy back?" she asked.

  "The Savage 110 rifle with the scope. Lots of ammo. The pair of binoculars," he said.

  Amy nodded and went to retrieve the gun.

  "Whoa, Jack. Let's slow down here--"

  "What do you know about that group we ran into back at the train? What town do you think they came from?" Jack asked.

  "Now don't leap to conclusions, Jack. We don't know anything yet. Just stay put f
or now. Like I said, I'll get some people together and we'll go looking for him. Don't go off half-cocked and get yourself into bigger troubles than you've already got," Chief Howell said.

  "You're missing the point, Chief. You're right about one thing, though. We don't know anything. That's why I have to go out there right now and find out where my son is and what happened to him. Some of those shortcut trails we took before we got to the railroad tracks are bare cliff faces a couple feet wide with loose rock underfoot. Did his bike go over a cliff? Did he step in some carelessly set leg-hold trap? Maybe he fell down and broke his leg and now he's lying there on the ground freezing to death. He could be out there injured and alone. Maybe those people from the other scavenger group took him. We don't know anything. I can't just sit here and wait," Jack said.

  "I understand how upset you must be right now, but you can’t go running off by yourself. Just give me a few hours to get a search and rescue team together. Look, I don't mind if you want to go back along the trail or check somewhere else for him, make sure he isn’t stuck somewhere, hurt. But don't go back to that train. That’s just asking for trouble," the Chief said.

  "I'm going to start back along the trail. If I don't find him there, the next place I'm going to look is the train. Let me be blunt, Chief: if you know where that group came from and won't tell me, then I'll track them down myself. It’s way too big of a coincidence that I shot one of their people and now Kenny has gone missing," Jack fumed.

  "Jack, I'm an officer of the law. If I told you where they came from and then you went and did something that--"

  "You're a father, too. You're a father that knows what it means to lose a son," Jack said.

  Chief Howell pulled the flask from his jacket, ready to take a drink, and then realized it was already empty. With a sigh, he put the flask back.

  "All right, damn it. I shouldn't be telling you this, but they were probably from Long Branch. That train sits about halfway in between Wheeler and Long Branch. If you follow the tracks for another six miles or so past the train, you'll come to the town. But listen to me, Jack. Long Branch is a much bigger town than Wheeler. If they did take Kenny, you're not going to be able to just waltz in there and get him back. They'll have him locked up and under close guard."

  "You're not going to talk me out of it. This is my son we’re talking about. I'm going to double back on the trail and see if we missed anything on our way back from the train. If I don’t find him along the way, they’ve got to have him. If I don't see anything, you'd better believe I'm going straight to Long Branch. I can’t just leave him out there. Catch up to me after you put your team together," Jack said.

  "Be careful, Jack. If you get caught, then I'll have two people to rescue. With one shooting already today, we can't show up with our pants down and outgunned. It will be easier to negotiate from a position of strength with a large posse on our side. If you go in to town alone looking for Kenny, you won't be able to press your case. They'll lynch you sooner than help you.”

  “I don’t give a—"

  “Look, I've said what I needed to say. You won't be persuaded, I can see that. I'll meet you out there. Leave trail markers along the way," the Chief said.

  He started to say something else, shook his head, and then left the house without another word.

  In the other room, Danny fought to suppress a cough, grunting and clearing his throat. After a moment he no longer had to strength to contain it and began a drawn out coughing fit interrupted only by the sounds of his labored breathing. The bed creaked and knocked against the wall with each cough, and then, after what seemed like ages, the fit finally broke and Danny eased back against the wall, exhausted and still struggling to catch his breath.

  The staircase creaked under Amy's footsteps as she descended the stairwell, returning finally with the gun. Hearing Danny’s labored breathing, she retrieved a cold, wet cloth, sitting down on the bed next to him to dab at his forehead. She comforted him until his breaths evened out. After he was resting again, she entered the kitchen with the rifle and ammunition pouch in hand.

  "How is he?" Jack asked.

  "The same. He needs food and rest," Amy said, handing Jack the rifle. "Here, take this. Don't worry about Danny. I'll take good care of him. I only wish I could go with you."

  "I'm sorry this happened, Amy. I’m sorry I failed our son."

  Amy gently rested her hand on his shoulder. "This isn't on you, Jack. It wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do. Don't beat yourself up over it. Just find our son and bring him home."

  What if the Chief was right? Was he being hasty in leaving now and pursuing Kenny? Nothing seemed cut and dried after this morning. Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed home and found some other way to get food for Danny rather than going out on that railroad track. But where? There wasn't anywhere else to go.

  "Am I doing the right thing? I just can't tell anymore. Should I wait for the Chief to put a group together to go look for Kenny?"

  "It doesn't matter what the Chief thinks. Do what you know is right. Don't second guess yourself, Jack. You’re a good father and a good man. You do what you need to do for your family. That’s all that matters now in this world. The EMP has taken everything else from us, from everyone. Don't make my mistakes, Jack. Don't hesitate to do what you have to do, even for a second. Be the man who pulled our family from the fire and brought us here," she said.

  She was right. He was wasting time second guessing himself. The Chief was right as well. There were no grey areas in a shootout when someone pointed a gun at you. It was kill or be killed. He had to live with this and deal with it. This morning, he had done what he had to do.

  What if he'd hesitated and the young man had shot him? Who would have been able to go after Kenny right now? Who could have searched for more food for Danny? Amy was wonderful, but neither one of them could do all this by themselves. He had their family to provide for, to protect.

  Jack pushed his chair out from the table and stood up, grabbing the Savage 110, the bag of food and ammo already in his hands. "You're right, Amy. You’re seeing things more clearly than I am right now."

  "Jack, that canned soup you brought back could save Danny's life. That’s no small thing. This wasn't all for nothing. You saved one of your son's lives today. Now get up and go do it again," she said. Amy squeezed his arm. The look in her eyes filled him with self-confidence again, driving away his doubts.

  He kissed Amy on the forehead and set out. At least he could let his fears for Danny's health abate for the time being. There was enough canned soup to last him more than a week, more food than he'd had in a long time. Food and hydration would help his body mend, help him gain more strength to fight this illness.

  Now he had to focus all of his efforts and concentration on one task. Kenny was out there somewhere. He had to find him and bring him home. It was dangerous out there, and he couldn't wait for the Chief to assemble a posse. The situation with the young man on the train had shown him those dangers all too clearly. The boy had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, had done what he thought was the right thing to do, just like Jack had done. He had to go find his son before Kenny found himself in the same situation, where both parties felt they were doing the right thing and somebody ended up dead.

  Chapter 8

  Shane moved with a purpose down the sidewalk past abandoned brick buildings with boarded up windows, making a beeline toward Wheeler's main street and town square. Just behind him, Ben, David, and five other men from the scavenging team followed closely, struggling to keep up with his pace. Each one of the men was heavily armed and ready to deal with any resistance from the townspeople. This group was only a few of the men that volunteered to come with him. He had fifteen more waiting in reserve a mile outside of town.

  So far they hadn't seen so much as a single patrol or guard. Wheeler was pitifully unprepared to handle an armed group like his. It was sad, really. Those men were lucky they managed to flee so quickly after hi
s son gave his life defending the train full of supplies. But now he could see they were outnumbered, outgunned, and hopelessly ill prepared. How they managed to kill his son and one other man was beyond him.

  As he rounded the corner of an abandoned brick department store, the town square came into view. The first thing that struck him was the motorcycle club situated directly across the street from the police department. The club was painted a hellish red and the trim along the windows and doors was flat black. Flames, skulls, motorcycles, and other diabolical artwork were hand painted on the side of the building, stark and menacing. The paintings were a sharp contrast to the clean outlines and stenciling on the plate glass windows across the street, innocently advertising the police department’s offices.

  Three hard looking bikers sat outside of the club, laughing and roughhousing. They didn't seem to be concerned with the fact that the police department was right across the street. There they were, in plain sight of everyone, drinking hard liquor and smoking something that didn't smell at all like tobacco. A grey haired old biker perched on a motorcycle, coughed, and then spit in his direction.

  What kind of weakling ran this town? Who would let men like this occupy their town, flaunt their defiance right in the face of the law?

  It mystified him and left him shaking his head with disdain. In the middle of the square, between the police station and the motorcycle club, two men were face to face having a heated discussion that bordered on a fistfight. One of the men wore a leather jacket with the motorcycle gang's emblem printed in bright colors on the back. The second man limped about, circling as they argued.

  A stocky policeman stood twenty yards away talking to some rail-thin townspeople on the steps of a little stone church. He turned his head towards the men fighting in the town square a few times, but otherwise ignored them.